


The Sundering Day

by JulianGreystoke



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982)
Genre: Artisan, Brother and Sister - Freeform, Danger, Drama, History, Prophecy, Retelling, Seer, Siblings, Urskeks, before skeksies, crash, gelflings, origin, possible beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:31:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2578394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulianGreystoke/pseuds/JulianGreystoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mave and his sister live in a quiet jungle village where the young gelfling is learning to be a seer.  But then a strange feeling comes over him and something falls from the sky.  Could the mysterious fallen object be the cause of the elder's suddenly prophecy?  What could this mean for Mave and his people?</p><p>My idea of where the Urskeks came from, and what the gelflings were like before all the killing went down.  This is ONLY my imagination, and does not (intentionally) follow any canon that may exsist</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sundering Day

The Sundering Day

Mave could not concentrate on his painting. All his gelfling figures walked at strange angles. The patch of flowers be tried to add looked more like a swarm of colorful gnats. He twisted his lips in frustration as he dipped his brush again, before holding it poised before the wall. His ears were flat back as he concentrated. He hoped he could correct his mistakes before Old Hobb, the village mystic, walked by to check his work. He was supposed to be copying down the latest prophecy onto the wall of truths and remembrances. It was a good prophecy, telling of profitable forages and successful hunts. Perhaps he should concentrate on his letters. He dripped his strider hair brush again and began to mark the shapes of language onto the wall.

“Mave!” Old Hobb's voice was abrupt and cold. The young gelfling almost dropped his brush as the stern mystic walked up to inspect the wall. “What sort of sloppy work do you call this? You want gelf-kind in the future to look back at this and think we were all drunk? What is wrong with you today, boy?”

Mave swallowed, wondering if he should be honest. As an artisan he was encouraged to foster any spiritual leanings he might have, in case he too would become a mystic one day. Their tribe only had one mystic, and the other nearby tribes looked down on them for it. Mave flinched as a fluffly rolly, a tiny bug-like creature, trundled over his bare feet. “I'm not sure, master. My work had been off all day. There's something in the air. Like the feeling lightning leaves behind. Like the smell of cold stone.”

The mystic seemed to consider, tilting his silvered head and swiveling his ears. He bright eyes swept over the mangled art on the wall. He snorted. “I have had no such feeling. Perhaps you are unwell, boy. You had best stop painting today. I will have Milchen replace you. His work is not as clean as yours, but it will have to do today.”

Mave set his brush down, dejected, but he went willingly enough. He had not been lying when he told Old Hobb that he felt strange. He did not want to leave bad remembrances on the wall. As he walked away he shook his head, then tilted it back, his long hair falling over his shoulders. The air in the jungle was fresh and damp. All around him life flourished and moved. The plants either shied away or stretched towards him. At a glance the gelfling village might have seemed a ruin. Round topped walls were broken in places where tick trees had forced their branches through. Most structures were partially, or entirely open roofed. Vines overtook every building and stone. Yet the gelflings within were thriving and youthful. The jungle tribes expected their buildings and the plant life to coexist. No one batted an eye when their house was overcome with creeping, purple, ivy over night.

As Mave made his way towards the healing hut he caught sight of Queen Lena walking through the village. The female gelfling had the wisest, gentlest eyes that Mave had ever seen. She stood tall and regal, her dark hair augmented with colored feathers. She wore the robes of an artisan or wise-man, though, like most gelfling women, she did not possess The Sight. The queen's dark eyes fell on each of her people in turn as they greeted her and went about their business. Mave thought about greeting her, but at that moment the ground seemed to pitch under him and he almost fainted on the spot.

“Whoa! What was that?” Mave became aware of hands under his arms holding him up. He knew the voice of his helper. Mari, his sister. “Are you sick? Why aren't you at the wall? You don't look so good.” Mari always spoke quickly, like a bird chattering. The habit of a scout.

He stood carefully, feeling the soft moss between his toes and focusing on balance. His sister's concerned eyes met his. He opened his mouth to tell her to help him to the healer's hut, but then the ground shook, and this time it was not his imagination. Leafs showered from the trees and children screamed. Mave felt the quick rush of wind as his sister spread her strong wings, beating them to keep her feet above the trembling ground. Two other sky scouts flitted over, tugging stone daggers from their belts.

“Be calm! Gather the children in the village center, away from any buildings, and keep them safe!” the queen was shouting. She too had taken wing, though her scholar's cloak got in her way.

Mave tilted his head back as he heard a low, loud, growl coming from the sky. Something made of fire streaked across the unblemished blue. More gelflings screamed. Mave calculated the course of the fireball. He wished he could fly, like his sister, but from his vantage point on the ground he still thought he got a pretty good idea of where it might land. And land it must have, for there was another tremendous shaking of the ground. A dead tree branch fell, and a sky scout acted quickly to scoot two less attentive gelflings out of the way.

Then there was utter silence. Not even the skeks birds squawked, and they would sing their ugly songs in the middle of a torrential downpour. The queen seemed at a loss, but only for a moment. Then her demeanor of authority returned. “Land scouts, I want a company to go out and check on the nearest podling village. See if their dwellings were collapsed in the shakes. Artisans, come with me, help determine where that thing came to rest, and then sky scouts will fly out to investigate.

 

Mave stood with the Artisans of his school. Most were training to become mystics, though there were a few painters and musicians amongst them. The village elders huddled nearby, muttering in low, furtive voices. Mave watched the sky as the other villagers hurried by, ensuring that everyone was accounted for, and seeing that dinner was doled out.

Mave little noticed as a wooden bowl filled with mashed javi fruit was set in his hands. He set it aside on a rock with an automatic notion. He was watching the sky, squinting as it darkened, waiting for any sign of his sister. Had he and the others figured out the correct trajectory for the falling object? What if the object was dangerous? He knew how reckless Mari could be. Would the other scouts be able to keep her in check? What if the object was still burning? Could it burn up the whole jungle? He chewed the inside of his cheek, still feeling light headed. He had not been able to shake the feeling all day. Cold sweat trickled down his back, even as the refreshing evening air caressed his face. He shot a glance towards Queen Lena, who stood with the elders. Her expression was firm, but not worried. Mave tried to relax a little.

“I see one!” someone shouted. Some of the village females had gotten into the nearby trees to keep watch. Though only some females could fly, and most of them became scouts or warriors, the village women were able to glide down on their delicate wings to inform the waiting gelflings below. Mave swallowed and looked up, wishing he didn't feel so dizzy. He could climb a tree and look out for his sister too. His lack of wings be damned.

“You're sure you saw them?” the queen asked of the village woman.

“I did. The whole group coming back!”

Even as the sky scouts touched down, the underbrush shook as the land scouts, riding the tall, mossy, striders barreled into camp, whooping and shouting to one another. Mave shook his head at their raucous antics and located Mari in the group of fliers. He made his way to her, grabbing her hand. She hadn't been ready for him to dream-fast with her and she squeaked in surprise as he pulled her memories from her mind into his. “Mave!” she scolded, but did not take her hand away. All around them gelflings clasped hands with the scouts to see what they had seen.

In his mind Mave saw the rush of trees below Mari as she and her group had flown over the shimmering jungle. Then the jungle fell away to open land, green with long grass, which churned like waves. A lazy river twisted through the brush. She had seen other gelflings. Scouts from the plains tribe, flying to investigate as well. Then the grass was gone, replaced with cracked stone and sand. The grassland did not taper away to this strange, rocky desert, but simply stopped, as though it had never been. The land was cracked and scarred with long valleys like marks left by the claws of a giant creature. Mave tensed as his sister's memories continued. She and her fliers rounded a mountain which looked more like a blade sticking up from the sandy earth, and then she stopped. Something huge and sharp jutted up from the scorched earth. Blue electricity, like lighting, snaked away from it along the ground. Mave felt his sister's fear for the scouts that came by land strider. He wished she would spend more time looking at the fallen...whatever it was. A star? Were stars black and covered in sharp points and edges? Had a star ever fallen before? He couldn't remember seeing that story on any of the remembering walls.

Then Mave had swooped closer, and he could smell what she had smelled. Acrid smoke and air charged with electricity. He wished she had not flown so close. He had to stop the dream-fast for a moment and feel her hand still gripping his to remember that she was alright. That she had made it back.

A Black smoke issued from the object and Mari had been forced back by it. She had turned to her fellow fliers and they spoke quickly. Mave tried to focus his mind to hear what they had said when Mari suddenly tugged her hand from his. He jerked his head up, about to scold her, when he saw what had caused her alarm. His sister's bright eyes were wide as twin moons.

Old Hobb was still clasping the hand of a young gelfling scout, who looked pained. It was obvious the mystic was squeezing the younger gelfling's hand too hard. She tried to pull away, but was unable to. Hobb's eyes had a blank, distant look, cloudy, as though in death. His mouth hung open. He stumbled and fell to his knees, dragging the scout with him. Mave knew the signs. “Someone get a stone! He's going to speak a prophecy!”

One of his fellow artisans snatched up a thin, stone tablet from a pile and took up a charcoal writing stick. Old Hobb knelt, still crushing the alarmed scout's hand. He twitched, then thrashed, head tossed back as though about to scream. Instead words rushed quickly from his thin lips. “When single shines the triple sun, what was sundered and undone, shall be whole. The two made one. By gelfling hand, or else by none.”

Hobb went limp, relinquishing the scouts hand. She managed to catch him before his head hit the packed earth. Confusion was all around them. Mave felt Mari grip his shoulder. “What?” her voice was smaller than he had ever heard it. “What does it mean, Mave?”

“I don't know,” his own voice was dry and husky. His mind felt clear for the first time that day. As though someone had dumped a bucket of water over his head. “I don't know what it means,” he rested his hand on his sisters' feeling a shiver run through him.

A healer squatted beside Old Hobb for a moment. When he lifted his face there was a shocked expression upon it. “Old Hobb...” the healer began, shakily, “Old Hobb is dead.”

A distressed murmur rippled through the crowd. No one knew what his last prophecy had meant, but no one could deny that his death was the worst of all possible omens.


End file.
